The Gentleman's Club
by mrshutch
Summary: There's no category for this story. It is a crossover of actors from various fandoms. Each actor is represented by an assassin. All of them kill for different reasons, but one thing brings them together: they are all Gentlemen.
1. Planning

This is the so called planning sheet with the "castings" and meaning behind the names. Skip it if you want, but I highly recommend reading it because I promise it will add so much more depth to the story. The idea credits go to the dear people on Tumblr who came up with this idea. I just happen to be the one writing the stuff down.

* * *

**Richard King**-Ruler, king, powerful—_Benedict Cumberbatch_—master mind, careful, professional

**Aaron Vectis**-Mountain of strength—_Michael Fassbender_—brute strength, but also mental strength, strong-willed, hard to persuade, stubborn, brave to the point of stupidity at times, does it for good taste, exercise almost

**Darryl Cor**- dear one, beloved—_Tom Hiddleston_—the "heart" of the group, most compassionate, does it for the fun and adrenaline

**Travis Invito**- at the crossroads—_James McAvoy_—the one who's never too sure, hesitates before he does it, but has to do it because he can't help it, goes through self-hate, tries the hardest to be normal, wants to be normal

**"The Boss"**—_Matt Smith_—mysterious, never goes by the actual name, connections get him jobs for the group and the money to do them

**"The King"**- Andrew Scott-genius, criminal, actual name is unknown

**Vittima Amore**- victim of love-aka Travis's wife. (Still thinking about the casting. If you have any ideas, please leave it in my messages.)

* * *

And now onto chapter 1!


	2. Chapter 1

I didn't assign them a name, didn't think it was needed. To me, they were just a group of professionals who worked for me; nothing completely organized; just little jobs here and there. As time went by though, they became known to a small group of people; they became feared, dreaded almost. The name, _The Gentleman's Club_,was dubbed on them and it stuck. Most of the time, the men were just called the Gentlemen. There was nothing gentlemanly about the job they did; in fact, they rarely even worked as a group. Yet, these men were good at their job and they completed each assignment with as much honor as a man could when he killed.

Even in the game of killing, there are rules. Killing actually isn't a good way to describe what they did. The preferred words are "organized assassinations." Unlike random gang violence on the streets, everything is perfectly planned, down to the last second, the last inch. These men are smart and as honest as assassins can get. They follow the rules no matter what, unless it means saving each other by breaking the rules.

Rule number one is almost a code of honor in the elite circle: don't kill in front of anyone, whether it is a loved one of the victim or random stranger. Watching the death of a person may damage a person who was not the intended target. Then the problem of making sure that person didn't go to authorities would arise from that. It would mean another person to erase from the Earth, wasting time, money, and a valuable, or invaluable, life.

Rule number two is to let the victim die with at least a shred of honor. He or she would be given the chance to fight; there would be no bedside murders. Of course, the victim never won, but at least they got a chance to die fighting.

Rule number three is by far the most important. It has nothing to do with honor: very simply put, it is to stay alive.

These rules were never written down; they technically don't even have to be followed. The Gentlemen are gentlemen for a reason. As bloody and cruel as the game may get, these men have found some honor in their line of work, perhaps to keep their sanity.

* * *

The silhouette of two men could be seen through a tiny window in the corner of a heavy metal door, painted blue for the sake of color. One man lounged in a large leather chair behind a desk, littered with papers. The other man sat stiffly in a smaller, less comfortable wooden chair.

"I have an assignment for you," the Boss handed Travis Invito a small chip. "It should take no more than an hour or two to track the man down. He goes by the name the King." Despite himself, the Boss allowed himself a chuckle. "I was going to give this one to our dear friend, Richard King, but I didn't think he would appreciate it. This new King has to be exterminated, gone by tomorrow. He is nothing but trouble."

"Sorry, I can't tonight. I've got things to do," Travis' hands shook as he pushed the chip across the desk to the Boss.

"I wouldn't go, the girl's not worth it," the Boss swept a wave of brown hair away from his gray-green eyes. He seemed strangely pale and young in the noonday light that poured from the frosted window. The man couldn't be more than thirty-five and yet he ran the infamous "Gentleman's Club." He had dressed for his part as a Gentleman, it was standard uniform; distinct enough to attract the attention of another fellow Gentlemen, but subtle enough to blend in a crowd. The black suit was ironed and flawless, sewed with strands of spun gold. His bowtie was tied around the collar of a white shirt with small golden buttons hidden in the shadows of the tie. The Boss looked like a regular business man, a Gentleman.

"How in the bloody hell do you know about her?" Travis paled at the thought of the girl discovering who and what he was. She was most probably his last chance at normality.

"The same way I know you can't last a day without killing a man."

"Then you know I don't want to kill! I am a mutant, Boss, a monster, but I am strong, strong enough to resist for one day, just one," Travis had his hands clutched tightly around his chair's armrest. Blood rushed through his body, a dangerous warning that his craving would begin soon.

"No, you won't. The last time you said that, we found you with a knife embedded deep in your arm," the Boss's voice was firm, but he had a hint of pity. "We just barely saved you and I don't want to find myself in that position again. You are one of the best in this line of work, you are a Gentleman, it doesn't matter that you have this…" the Boss's voice trailed off, thinking of the right word to choose.

"Condition," Travis growled. Hate had begun to pump through his veins.

"Yes, condition. Just give the girl up."

"No. She's my last chance," Travis stood up abruptly from the chair and slammed the heavy, sound-proof door behind him, drowning out the Boss's protests.

Travis Invito was nicknamed "The Reluctant Gentleman." He was the only one who did not enjoy the game. It sickened him to plot and kill, made him throw up after each job. The only reason he ever become a Gentleman was because of his condition. Nobody had seen it before and there was no trace of difference in Travis's genes. The man was simply different. Travis had the need to kill, to see blood, feel someone else's fear. If he didn't, he would go into a trance and much of the time he would hurt himself and feel his own blood pour out, feel his own fear. When he was a baby, squashing flies and small bugs were enough to satisfy his "cravings," but as he got older, he needed more, just like any other appetite. His pets started to disappear at night and the entrails of rodents were found littering the driveway. This was the beginning of his criminal career.

The first human Travis killed was a boy from middle school, when animals weren't enough anymore. All the school children had already discovered Travis was different from them, they had no idea how different, but it was enough to make them scorn him and make school miserable. Travis began to hate himself; his image, his voice, and even his own touch disgusted him and tormented him. Every morning, Travis glared at his reflection in the mirror. Any normal person would have seen a handsome teenager; large, almost kind, blue eyes, locks of rich dark brown hair, and an overall attractive face. Travis hated it, all of it. All he saw was a boy covered in blood, a monster.

Before all the blood dreams, the horror, Travis tried to be normal. Even after, he still tried his hardest. Travis wanted to feel the warmth of love envelop him in its golden rays and prove that even a monster could be worthy of happiness. There was none from his parents; they feared their own son. The boy he killed showed no fear, only scorn, until the very end, when he watched his life flash before his eyes.

Travis remembered trying to join the game of tag on the playground. With eagerness, he chased down the prettiest girl in the school, laughing and shouting like a normal person. He had marveled at the golden waves of hair that streamed behind her and the soft white skin that radiated a pretty pink color when she ran. For that blissful moment of time, running through a field of grass, Travis felt like a normal child. It was, as all sad stories go, ruined. The monster inside him burst out at the moment he touched the girl's shoulder. She saw something dark cloud his eyes and felt a shudder of horror clutch at her stomach. The shrill scream that rose from her trembling lips alerted everyone on the playground and nobody would believe he did nothing but tap her on the shoulder.

"What did you do?" the boy demanded after school, cornering a much shorter Travis into the woods surrounding the school. He was most likely the girl's older brother, or some sort of relation. They had the same hair.

Travis felt the heat within him, the rising blood mingled with hate, and he begged the boy to run. The fool took it as a threat and advanced on Travis. From that point on, Travis Invito was swallowed and a horrible blood-thirsty monster took his place. The boy died from a bashed in brain, never to be found by search parties.

Now, Travis was still the same. Perhaps slightly more in control, but even more deadly than before. Through years of practice, he had managed to finally keep a piece of his head to control the monster when it was aroused, but the same self-hate was still there and growing stronger as each day went by and another life was ended to satisfy the monster. _Tonight_, Travis promised himself, _tonight will be the first night nobody will die in my hands_

He walked to the center of London, where all the shops and restaurants entertained an endless crowd of tourist. There, he picked up a new suit and shirt with a plain bowtie. Bowties have begun to grow on him. Back in his modest flat, in the outskirts of the great city, he prepared himself for the test of strength. _Nobody will die_, he whispered over and over as he buttoned the jacket of his suit and straightened his bowtie. _Nobody will die._ Locks of dark brown hair curled softy against his ear. _I will not kill._

The doorbell buzzed, startling Travis from his meditational grooming. He cleaned up quickly and walked to the door, straightening his suit one last time. Readying himself, Travis opened the door.

"Reina, hi," his voice was smooth, but on the verge of trembling as he strained himself to concentrate.

"Mr. Invito," she murmured as she looked around the surprisingly neat flat.

"Please, just Travis."

"I always though single men were slobs, I'm impressed." She looked beautiful with dark brown, black hair piled neatly into a twist. The sparkling red dress was perfect with her tan Spanish skin and eyes, casting dancing flames about the room every time she shifted.

Travis was extremely pleased at where the date was heading. "Shall I lead you to dinner? It's a five minute walk, unless you prefer that I drive."

"Walking is great, relaxing," Reina smiled a blood red smile. "But I can't in these heels." She motioned to her shiny blood red shoes

_No! Please, any color but blood red!_ Travis screamed internally as he realized what shade her entire outfit was. For a moment, he froze in a mask of utter loathing at the monster that stirred inside. It soon disintegrated when he realized Reina was casting him a series of worried glances.

"Sorry, it's nothing, I'm fine," he muttered before she could ask. The night was going to be much harder than he had originally anticipated. It was too late to turn back though; all that was left to do was steel himself and get the date over with as quickly as possible. With a sinking feeling, Travis knew he would have no chance with Reina after this. Once again, the monster has shot the beams of hope out of the sky.

He silently led her out of his flat, trying desperately not to look at her dress. The result was awkward silence as they drove a painful minute to the resteraunt. Travis could barely make out the words Reina was saying, let alone give her more than a two word reply.

"You look really pale, are you sure you aren't sick or something?" Reina bit her red lip. She sat herself down at the small table with the view of the Thames.

_I'm fighting to save your life! _Travis wanted to scream at her. He groaned as the craving began to swallow his senses.

"No, actually, I must excuse myself to the bathroom. I'm so sorry. I'll be right back," he managed to say as he got up.

He did everything he could to not run to the bathroom. Inside a stall, he let the monster have reign for a second before fighting it back into the depths of himself. There was the familiar agonizing burning in his stomach that threatened to spread if he didn't kill soon. Blood, he needed to see blood in order to regain control. When the monster took over, Travis lost most his senses to a monster that looked and talked like him, but thought completely different thoughts. The only visible difference though, was the eyes. All the blue would be consumed by a dark cloud. Inside his head, Travis felt his conscience fight to gain a small amount of space to think properly. _How do I find blood without hurting anyone?_ Travis was beginning to panic. He bashed his head against the stall door in pain as the burning began to make a course for his heart. The moment it got there, he would be a full fledged monster until its quest for blood and fear was quenched. Something wet started to drip from his nose as he smashed his face against the wall again and again. A drop of red splashed against the white tile. Travis reached up to touch his nose. _Blood!_ Travis allowed the monster to taste the blood, understand that it was real, and then his mind chased it back into its cave, hidden somewhere inside him. As his own senses returned to him, he realized the monster was gripping a butter knife it had taken from the table, raised above his own arm. Travis had come so close to hurting himself, again.


	3. Chapter 2

"The Queen?" Darryl Cor examined the picture.

"That's what she calls herself. She's partners with the King. I sent Travis after him."

"How did that go?" Darryl was worried about Travis. He had become nearly as reckless as Aaron. The team did not need another incident.

"Not well. God knows how he's going to react when you arrive." The Boss looked tired. Behind him, the sun was setting and Travis was no doubt busying himself for a very disappointing date.

Darryl pocketed the picture and the computer chip. "Do you think he can do it? Resist, I mean."

"I don't know." The Boss stood up from his seat. "There's just one more thing I have to ask you to do, as a favor."

"Yes?" Darryl furrowed his eyebrows. The Boss rarely asked for personal favors.

"Kill her when he's not looking."

Darryl wasn't planning to assassinate the woman in front of anyone. He would stick to his usual plan; charm them into a quiet corner where no eyes could reach. Out of all the Gentlemen, Darryl was the kindest, most charming, and most attractive to the opposite sex. His deep, soulful blue eyes spoke a million kind words to everyone who looked into them. Ringlets of his golden hair framed a masterly carved face. The deep smooth voice of his was chocolate to the ears of everyone who heard him and the words he used were so alluring and gentle that nobody could guess what awaited them if they followed. That was why the Boss always gave him the women to deal with. Nobody could resist Darryl.

Darryl gave the Boss a nod of understanding. "Of course."

"You are dismissed then," the Boss waved him out of the room into the corridors of the Gentlemen's headquarters.

Headquarters was one of the Boss's many houses. This one was built and designed under the strict eye of the Boss, located in the undergrounds of London. Concrete slabs were used to fortify the walls that were lined with thick sheets of metal as a precaution. There was only one glass window, in the study, and it wasn't even real. The "window" was actually a projection screen that gave the impression of the house being above ground. Despite all the defenses, the house was decorated richly with rugs, bookshelves, and fancy antiques. It was home to the five Gentlemen; the Boss, Travis, Darryl, Aaron, and Richard. Of course they all had separate homes, but most of their days were spent in the Headquarters.

Darryl rounded a corner, into the research lab. Built to resemble a crime lab, this lab was designed not to solve crimes, but to plan them. He inserted the chip into a computer and immediately files downloaded onto the screen. The first file was on the Queen.

In her late twenties, real age unknown, and of Spanish descent, she worked with the King. He may have been the man in charge of all the action, but the Queen was the mind behind everything. Born in Spain, she was rumored to have an IQ of over 140; she was a certified genius. By the age of 15, she had graduated high school and run away on the night of her graduation. Somehow, the girl ended up in the midst of a criminal organization and she became their greatest weapon.

A smile danced across Darryl's lips. He loved every moment of this. To him, this was all a game to be played and he would always be the winner.

"It's too bad you're pretty," Darryl whispered at the screen. "You won't be so smart when you meet my companions." He reached over and got his favorite throwing knife. The handle fit perfectly into his large hands and the blade was small enough to be concealed, but deadly enough to finish the job. Darryl loved blades; it was more exciting and there was more of an adrenaline rush as opposed to using a gun. What was the fun in pulling a trigger?

"Having fun there?" Richard King walked in and put a hand on his best friend's shoulder.

"Yes, this is amazing. Look at the woman! She's brilliant. I would give anything to have a look into her mind. This woman could have been famous, rich beyond her dreams, yet she goes for this job, working for the King. Something must have happened in her childhood, something dark enough to turn her to this."

"It doesn't matter, she's going to be dead by tomorrow," Richard looked coldly at the files. He was the opposite of Darryl; cold and calculating versus warmth and passion.

Darryl looked sadly at her picture. "Yes, I'm genuinely sorry to kill her."

"How much?"

"How much what?"

"Money. How much did the Boss offer you?"

"He promised me five thousand. Not much, but I don't mind."

Richard nodded. He didn't kill unless he got more than 10k.

Darryl looked down at his knife. "Travis isn't going to like this. The poor man is going through hell. We should have told him, I should have warned him before he left."

"Don't worry yourself. He'll be fine."

"No, I don't think he will. He's becoming like Aaron."

There was a small chuckle in the doorway. Darryl turned to see a large, muscular man standing by the doorway.

"What about me?" Aaron Vectis sat himself by the next computer. "Actually, I don't want to know. Do you both have new assignments?"

"Just Darryl. I finished mine this morning," Richard replied.

"You've got to handle Travis?" Aaron asked, but it sound more like a statement than question.

"Yes."


	4. Chapter 3

The knife clattered to the bathroom floor. Travis felt an angry tear slip down his cheeks as he pounded the wall in frustration. His fists left a dent in the fancy wallpaper and his knuckles were stringing unpleasantly. Guilt twisted up inside him; he could have hurt Reina. Just the thought of it wretched at him and he threw up bile into the toilet, leaving a sour taste in his mouth_. There definitely will be no kissing tonight_, he thought to himself, smiling dryly.

Once the burning sensation had subsided significantly, Travis unlocked the stall. The bathroom was still empty and for that he was grateful. Blood was still slowly dripping from his nose into the sink. He looked up at the mirror and saw that he was a complete mess. All the grooming to his hair was destroyed during the head-poundings and his shirt was wrinkled, but at least no blood had gotten on it. Travis grabbed a paper towel and began to clean up his bloody face. Red water swirled around the sink and gurgled down the drain as more blood collected. Travis was beginning to think the nosebleed would never stop. With a rolled up piece of paper towel up his nose, Travis began to do what he could to his hair. Sweat matted the hairs on his forehead, that couldn't be helped, but with patience, the rest of the hair was neatened into wavy brown locks that parted perfectly in the center. Finally, the blood stopped running. Travis disposed of all the bloody towels and glanced at his reflection, deciding he was presentable enough to go back to his date. A glance at his watch sent his stomach plummeting. He had been locked up in the bathroom for more than half an hour. Reina would have left already.

Travis decided it would be a bad idea to get mad again, that could be saved for later. With a dreading heart, he walked out of the bathroom. One of the waiters cast him a startled glance.

"Sir, are you Mr. Travis Invito?" the waiter asked.

Travis gave him a puzzled look and replied, "Yes."

"There's a note for you." The man handed him a green note.

_Green?_ Travis's heart skipped a beat. Green was the signature color of Darryl. "Thank you," he took the note and ripped it open.

_Outside, _the note read. _Don't bother going back to the table. I have her with me. Don't panic, Travis, everything is going to be all right. Breathe. _

Travis ripped the note in half. _What the bloody hell is going on?_ Just in case, he slipped back to the table to check. The note was right; Reina was nowhere to be found. The glasses and silverware remained completely untouched.

"Do you still need the table sir?" the waiter appeared by him.

"It doesn't look like it," Travis growled, getting more frustrated by the second. He threw the note on the table and marched out of the restaurant with as much dignity as he could muster. Outside, the moon had risen behind a veil of thin clouds and the quiet murmurs of the night crowd filled the misty London air.

Travis examined the grounds. If Darryl was here, he would have left a sign indicating where he would be waiting. At first, there was nothing. Darryl's car wasn't even in the parking lot, but he had to be here. Nobody else could have left such a note. Then, he saw it. A trail of sequins from Reina's dress littered the stone pavement. Travis went back to his car first and got a small handgun from a hidden compartment under the driver's seat. He concealed it under his jacket and followed the trail into a dark corner behind the dumpsters where none of the street lamps could reach.

"Darryl, you better start explaining and tell me where you are," Travis whispered into the night.

"Turn left and walk thirty paces," Darryl's voice called softly. "Goodbye my sweetheart," he whispered after giving Travis instructions. "It was a joy being able to meet you."

"What are you doing?" Travis demanded as he walked the last few steps. He stumbled back in horror when he saw Darryl holding the limp body of his date.

"Breathe, my dear, breathe. She's not who you think she is. Please just listen for one second. I'm so sorry, but use that brain of yours. You know Spanish fluently. What does Reina mean?"

"The Queen," Travis whispered in a trembling voice.

"Who were you sent to kill?"

"The King." It dawned on him at that moment; the Queen and the King. "No, no. Why would she have agreed to go on a dinner date with me? She can't be," Travis could feel himself near boiling point.

Darryl cleaned Reina's blood off his knife. "She's a clever one. It took more than usual to get her to follow me. I—"he stopped when he saw the look on Travis's face: pain and complete loathing. Darryl softened his voice and put his arm around Travis. "I was going to tell you, to stop you, but the Boss—no, the team decided it would be best if they didn't know that we knew about them."

Travis pulled away from Darryl's comforting arm. "You know, I never wanted this." He touched the blood trickling down from Reina's neck. "I don't like it like you do; it's not a game to me. Do you know what it's like to have to do this? I don't want to _kill_!" In that moment of anger, a surge of inhuman strength passed through his arms and he snapped Reina's neck with a flick of his hand. "It's funny isn't it? The man who's best at killing is the one who can't stand to see the light flicker out of their prey's eyes." His voice was dangerously soft now.

"Travis, calm yourself for a moment. Let me take you back to Headquarters and we can have a nice dinner there with music and just relax for one night," Darryl pleaded with his angelic face and puppy eyes. "Please."

"All I wanted was one night to feel like a _human_. Was that too much to ask?"

"If you don't come with us, I'll have to bring you in by force," Richard stepped from the shadows, Travis hadn't noticed him.

"You're here too? The Boss doesn't trust me, does he?" Travis's voice was rising with defiance.

"No, I came to rig your passenger seat with a knockout needle in case pretty boy's charm wouldn't work on her," Richard's voice gave away no concern for Travis's feelings.

"That makes everything better then, doesn't it?" Travis didn't care about the fact that people could hear him nearly yelling.

"Please relax for a second. You might hurt someone if you keep going like this," Darryl whispered. Darryl knew the signs of the monster and in the moment of pure anger, Travis had missed them all.

"Since when did you care if people got hurt? You just killed my _date_, goddamn it, you kill for fun!" Travis's irises were turning into horrific black holes and voice had turned into a deadly growl.

"Richard, run," Darryl picked up his knife and began to back away slowly. "Run!"


	5. Chapter 4

The two Gentlemen broke out into a sprint as the monster took complete control of their friend. Together they ran past the river, forgetting about taking Travis's car. It would take more time to navigate through evening traffic than to simply run the three miles back to Headquarters. Behind them, screams erupted as the monster locked on his first victim, completely out of control until its thirst for murder and death was satiated.

"Call the Boss. We have to stop this," Darryl shouted above the sounds of traffic. He had left his phone in the car.

"I left my phone in the car!"

_Damn it. _Darryl picked up speed, feeling his muscle burn in protest. He was extremely fit; fit enough to run a marathon without stopping, but not at a breakneck speed. Gasping for breathe with each step, Darryl ripped his bowtie off and flung it into the river, allowing air to pass more easily through his windpipe. Richard followed in suit, running right behind Darryl and looking back to make sure they weren't being followed.

They startled the living daylights out of the British citizens as they slid down the railing to the London Underground and slammed the bathroom door open.

"You first?" Darryl offered, leaning forward to catch his breath.

Richard went into the last stall with the "out of order" sign forever taped upon the door. He slid his nail under a slightly different shaded tile on the wall. The tile slid open and Richard quickly thrust his hand into a gel that rested at the bottom of the hole in the wall. With a small flash of blue light, the gel checked his body temperature and pulse to insure that he wasn't a corpse that an intruder had brought along, then proceeded to read his fingerprints and palm prints.

"Richard King?" the machine asked.

"No sir, I'm a Gentleman," he quickly replied the correct answer. If he had said, "Yes," he would be immediately dropped into a tube and into a concrete room with no door and no window. The only way out was a tiny sliding portion of the concrete that allowed no more than one man through at a time. If anyone ever landed in that room, the Boss would immediately be notified and he would decide whether or not to release him or incinerate him. The Gentleman's Club was completely exclusive and would stay that way for a long while.

The wall behind the out-of-order toilet swung open and Richard hurried through. As soon as the wall shut again, the lock opened and Darryl went through the same process.

Darryl ran down a long corridor the second the wall had opened a crack big enough for him to jump through and faced a large vault door. A tiny panel on the side of the door asked for a five digit code that he typed in without even giving the letters a glance.

"We have to get him, now," were the first words he said when he saw the Boss. "There are innocent people in the restaurant right now and Travis is completely out of control. He could get hurt too."

Darryl's eyes were blazing with a determined blue fire. The Boss knew that Darryl would go without backup to save his friends, even if it risked his own life and broke all the rules. Nobody would be able to replace Darryl, or Travis even, so the Boss decided to let him go with the proper equipment and personnel to keep his Gentlemen alive.

"Call Richard back, actually I think he's suiting up already, and Aaron should be back any moment. Ah, here he is." Aaron walked in the door. He frowned in puzzlement when he saw the intensity in Darryl's eyes.

"What's happened? Is Travis faring well?"

"Darryl will explain as you both get ready. Remember, he doesn't know your faces now, but we don't want to hurt him. The stun guns should do fine as long as your aim is true, but make sure they are the heavy dosage ones," the Boss began typing quickly into his phone. "All security cameras and any sort of government surveillance should be down in the next half in hour. The man owes me a favor. One more thing, don't go just yet." Darryl turned back to face the Boss, obviously growing impatient. "Please, be careful. We can't afford to lose any Gentlemen tonight. It's just the four of you guys and me. There are no replacements for you." The Boss gave Darryl a sharp look. "Don't be reckless, not tonight."

"I won't, Boss," Darryl promised.

"Go."

Darryl didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed Aaron's arm and hauled him to the weapons room.

"It's my fault. Travis was doing so well, but seeing his date dead didn't result in a positive reaction from him. It's not him anymore. He doesn't even have the miniscule amount of control over himself like he usually does during killings. I got him too worked up and I couldn't stop it. We have to get him back safely and save as many innocents as possible," Darryl couldn't look in Aaron's grey eyes. Travis had been the closest to Aaron. It seemed that he relied on the reckless strength of Aaron to keep himself in a sane state of mind.

Aaron could tell Darryl was drowning in a pool of guilt. He managed to utter, "Don't beat yourself up. It's fine," while pulling a clean shirt over his head.

Darryl ripped his clothes off quickly and dressed himself in the Gentleman's outfit, but this time strapping a bullet-proof vest under his crisp white shirt and a belt of stun needles to his waist.

He had just tied on a new bow tie when Richard's footsteps pounded down the hall and into the room.

"He's on the news," Robert reported.

Darryl grabbed his knife and hurried after Richard to the living room. The television flashed with the images of mangled bodies being collected from a hysterical crowd of people. Sirens were flashing, lighting up the room with red and blue. Police officers were pouring out of their vehicles, looking around at the crowd, not quite sure where to begin.

"I don't think he's there anymore," Aaron squinted at the screen, scanning for Travis.

"No, he would have gone from now. Perhaps even normal by the time we reach him," Darryl contemplated on whether or not he needed weapons and protection now. He reached to unbuckle his belt when Aaron stopped him.

"He's going to be more dangerous when he's back to normal."

Richard nodded, "He's right. We should go now."

Darryl tightened his belt with a stony face. "I'm ready."

* * *

It was utter confusion and chaos at the scene. A woman clutched at the chest of a man, staining her silky white dress with crimson red blood and clumping together her already red hair in tangles. One of the dozens of police officers stood above her, his face written with pity, but also traces of disgust as his uniform was splattered with the dead man's blood. He was trying desperately to get the woman to let go and making a bad attempt at soothing her distress. Everyone else was screaming into their phones and crying over bodies, the police wandered around, unable to do much good.

It was easy for Richard, Darryl, and Aaron to sneak into the scene. The four of them slipped across the yellow tape when the officers were all turned the other way. Richard took out a cell phone and quickly typed in the password. There were three passwords for each of their phones. One password unlocked the phone and showed a normal screen with regular games and contacts. Another password opened up a screen that showed file after file of information pertaining to their work. The last password had never been typed in by any of the Gentlemen. It was the password that destroyed all the files and countless pieces of information on their phone.

Richard's phone screen showed a highly complex system of folders and he tapped on the third one in the last row labeled "GPS." It wasn't the typical Global Positioning System that regular citizens used, instead the Gentlemen had a chip embedded in their bowties that regularly sent a signal that only the "phones" could track.

A red dot on the screen blinked next to Travis's name. Richard tapped his foot impatiently and groaned when the dot showed that the bowtie was still in Headquarters, which was impossible.

"He was wearing the tie, wasn't he?" Richard asked.

"It was a bow tie, but I'm not sure if it was the tie or not; it was too dark for me to see," Darryl replied.

Richard locked his phone again. "He must've bought a new tie for the date then; probably didn't want to a wear a tie tainted with the memories of his killings."

"We're wasting time then," Aaron looked around as more cops arrived on scene. "We'll have to search ourselves. Where would he have gone off to?"

Darryl had the strangest gut feeling that he knew exactly where Travis would be, especially if he was back to normal again. "Reina," was all he had to say to get the other two to start running in the right direction.

Weaving and occasionally jumping through the sea of bodies, both alive and dead, Darryl led the Gentlemen to where he was certain their friend would be; where everything started. It was just like Travis to be back with his date, being swallowed with a wave of guilt and hatred as he grasped the hand of the girl who had been his last hope.

The back of the restaurant was eerily silent compared to chaos that ruled the streets. It sent chills down each Gentleman's back, which was not a feeling they were used to. A lone bird chirped causing the Gentlemen's hands to jump to their weapons. Everyone was preparing for the absolute worst from Travis and it was making all of them nervous for the first time in ages.

Richard took out his gun, unable to take any chances. His usually steady hands shook slightly, but enough for the others to notice.

"Give me the gun, you'll end up shooting yourself," Aaron took the gun.

Darryl shook his head. Aaron was always the more reckless one; he never thought things through. "No, I'll have it."

His long, slender fingers stretched toward the gun and Aaron shoved it roughly in the large palm. For a moment, he looked slightly frustrated to not be trusted by his friend, but that quickly vaporized when he realized the fragility of the situation. It wasn't mistrust his friends showed, but care for the well-being of Travis.

"So, you came." Large half blue, half black eyes looked up from the dark shadows that Richard had stood at only and hour ago.


	6. Chapter 5

The Boss glanced at his watch, impatiently tapping at the glass separating his cold smooth hand from the three delicate gold fingers. For the first time, as far as he could remember, the Boss was genuinely worried about his Gentleman. Since the beginning of the organization, he had trusted the four men to make the right decisions at the right moments.

It was maybe a decade ago, when he was fresh out of university, the Boss heard of the four men. He had been accepted as an intern at one of Britain's top most secret agencies that tracked the doing of other countries' spies. From the start, everyone had recognized him as the single most brilliant individual that the country had ever seen. It was his way with people; the intimidating, yet still trustful, atmosphere that he created that had made him so successful so fast. Somehow, he was able to dig out information he needed from people and make sure the right people were on his side, even though he wasn't necessarily on their side. The Boss had never known love, making him all the stronger, better. Girls glanced his way, but he never glanced in their way. His parents were fully prepared for him to admit his possible homosexuality, only to discover their son was asexual. The closest the Boss had come to love was the relationship between him and his Gentlemen.

On his first day of work, the Boss came across a manila file folder containing top secret information on one of the deadliest killers in Europe. Richard King was only a three years older than him and had already made a name for himself. Highly talented, the man worked for anyone, anywhere because he needed the money and he was good at what he did. Nicknamed the "Ice Man," King was as cold-hearted as the Boss himself. The picture showed a serious man with waves of ginger hair, eyes that seemed to change color from each angle, and high cheekbones.

Right under that folder was a file on Darryl Cor. The young man in the picture was beyond handsome. Working for the same government, Cor's office was right next to his, but it seemed as it the untrusting government was keeping close tabs on him. It made the Boss suspect that similar files on himself were with another agent.

The Boss had been ordered to keep track of the two men right away. He must always know their whereabouts and doings in case they were to cross the line. If that were to happen, it was also up to him to control the situation. It caused him to suffer through long days behind a computer, but in the end, it all paid off.

Toward the end of the internship, the Boss uncovered two more files, linked to both King and Cor. The one that caught his attention was the file on Travis Invito. He had never heard of such a thing as the mutation that Travis regularly turned into. About three hundred papers detailing the phenomena were clipped neatly in the file and the Boss read every single one of them over and over again, finally deciding that he wanted to meet the man, marking the beginning of the Gentleman's Club.


End file.
